"It is true you must walk a dangerous road," the old woman said. "But there is hope. The dead have many powers, but there are things they cannot do. Only the fresh dead ones can walk. And even then their bodies will decay and finally crumble. When the four have come, there will be no more."
"The fourth walker, the last, when will he come? Can you tell me that?"
"I cannot."
Joana turned away. She wanted to cry.
"This much I can tell you," the old woman continued, "None will come after the Eve of St. John."
Instantly Joana was alert. You must return by the Eve of St. John.
"I have heard that name. What is it? What is the Eve of St. John?"
"It is the night of nights for all creatures not of this earth. It is the time when spirits fly and dead men walk. It is a night of sorcerers, a time of witchery. In my language it is la noche de medio-verano. Midsummer Night."
"Midsummer Night!" Joana repeated. "Of course." She looked at Glen. "When is that? I know it's soon."
Glen frowned in concentration. "June 23, I think. That would be Monday."
Joana turned back to Senora Villaneuva. The old woman nodded slowly. "Monday."
"Then, if they have not taken me by Monday, that will be the end of it?"
"The dead will have no power over you after the Eve of St. John."
Joana breathed a great deep sigh. She felt almost as though she were already free. Then she saw that the old woman was still looking at her. In the dark, shadowed eyes was a warning.
"Is there something more I should know?" Joana said.
"I have nothing more to tell you. It is time for you to go." The thin old voice had turned cold.
Joana rose uncertainly. Glen came over to stand beside her.
"Wait a minute," he said, "there is a lot more you can tell us. What will this last of the walkers look like? How will we know him? What can we do to stop him?"
Senora Villanueva rose from her chair and drew her shriveled body erect. She turned her gaze on Glen, and sparks glowed deep in her eyes.
"I said I have nothing more to tell you. Nothing that will help you now."
"But you do know more," Glen persisted.
"Yes."
"What, for God sake? What else do you see?"
"I see more death," the old woman said, her voice suddenly loud in the closed room. "I see a friend who is not a friend. I see fire and blood. No more than that."
"No more? What do you mean, no more?" Glen's voice rose dangerously. "Why do you give us riddles? We need facts, dates, times."
"Glen, please-" Joana began.
The old woman stepped closer to him. She stabbed a finger up at him. "Facts, is it? You want facts? Very well, young man, I can give you facts. I can tell you the day on which you die. I can tell you how you die. And there is nothing you can do to change it."
The silence in the room was sudden and stifling.
"Well? Do you want these facts now, my so-eager young man?"
Glen's face went pale. He was sweating. Finally, in a voice barely audible, he said, "No."
The old woman continued to stare at him. Slowly she lowered her finger from his face. "You choose wisely. There is no greater curse than to know when and how you will die."
Glen stood as though paralyzed. Joana nudged him and he came out of it and started for the door.
"Senora, how can I thank you?" Joana said.
"I want no thanks."
"Then at least let me pay you something." She started to open her bag.
"Money? Money has no meaning for me. Go now. I am tired."
Joana and Glen left the dim, musty room and walked down the flight of stairs to the alley. When they reached the street they stood for a moment breathing in the clean night air. The solid pavement, the palm trees, the boys around their flame painted car, all seemed part of a world apart from Senora Villanueva and her dark little room. It was a familiar world, a world of life.
They crossed the street and got into the car. Glen started the engine, then turned to Joana.
"What do you think?" he said.
"Think?"
"About the old lady."
"I believe her. What other choice is there?"
Glen put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. "I don't know. She might have been setting you up."
"Setting me up for what? I offered her money, she wouldn't take any."
"Not this time, maybe. That's the way con games work. They hook you in by giving you something for nothing, then they come back with something even better, only this time it's going to cost you."
"Glen, pull over."
"What?"
"Just pull over and stop the car."
Giving her a puzzled look, Glen eased the Camaro over to the curb and stopped. He put the shift lever in park and turned in the seat to face Joana.
"Now what is all this about a con game?" she demanded.
He shifted in the seat uncomfortably. "Well… what do we really know about this old woman, anyway? Some girl, who we don't know either, claims she has mystic powers of some kind. It's all kind of hard to swallow."
Joana stared at him. "Glen, I don't understand you. You didn't say anything about having doubts before we came. You were just as eager as I was." A thought hit her. "Wait a minute, did you think it was part of the con game when she offered to tell you when you were going to die, and how?"
"I…" Glen turned away and looked out through the windshield. "No," he said in a different, subdued voice. "I believed she could do it. God help me, I still believe she knows."
"Then what…?"
"I was scared, Joana. Scared right down to the soles of my feet. When we got out of there and onto the street again and everything looked so ordinary, so unthreatening, I was ashamed of myself. A part of me could not admit that a little old Mexican lady had pointed a finger at me and scared me more than anything ever before in my life. I had to deny it somehow. I had to prove I was strong, so I started running off at the mouth and couldn't stop."
Joana pulled his head down and kissed him. "You are strong, Glen. You're strong and brave, and you're the man I love. Can we go home now?"
He laid a hand on her cheek and looked deep into her eyes for a moment. "Joana," he said, "you are a hell of a woman."
Chapter 20
Dr. Hovde sat in a canvas chair across the coffee table from Joana and Glen in the house on Beach-wood Drive. He leaned forward listening intently as Joana described the meeting earlier that evening with the grandmother of Ynez Villanueva.
When Joana finished telling her story there was a long silence in the room. It was Hovde who finally spoke.
"It's fantastic. Even though indirectly it was I who sent you to the woman, this is a hard, hard thing to accept. The whole idea of witches and walking dead men is so completely foreign to everything I believe in."
"I know how you feel," Glen said. "I was there, and I'm still stunned by what I heard. God knows I don't want to believe these things are happening, but can we afford not to believe it?"
"If you have any other explanation, Warren, I'll jump at it," Joana said.
"I wish I had," said Hovde, "but I haven't. The only thing we can do is assume that everything the old woman told you is true, and get on with it. Do you have paper and something to write with?"
Joana brought him a yellow legal pad and a ball-point pen. He laid the pad flat on the coffee table in front of him.
"Sometimes it helps me attack a problem to write it down and look at it."
"You sound like an engineer now," Glen said with a brief smile.
"The first thing to do," Hovde went on, "is define the issue."
For a moment no one spoke, then Glen said, "Hell, that's easy enough. If we accept what the old woman said tonight, then someone, or something, is trying to kill Joana."